


Wandering Comet

by Beastrage



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alien Culture, Gen, Insomnia, Isolation, Manas is a jerk, Manas mentioned, Murder, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 10:12:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7973086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beastrage/pseuds/Beastrage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaylah spends a lot of time alone, before the Enterprise comes. A series of drabbles</p><p>Her record is eight planetary rotations, without sleep. But she always falls prey to it in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wandering Comet

In the dark nights, Jaylah puts the human music on, beats thrumming throughout her house. The shouting is a welcome diversion.

It keeps her awake. Keeps the dreams from creeping in.

Her record is eight planetary rotations, without sleep. But she always falls prey to it in the end. 

* * *

She misses the stars. She looks up at the sky, searching for the ones she knows so well, only to be disappointed. Only strange glitterings mark the sky. Dust clouds of the nebula blocking out the faraway lights. 

Every once in a while, the sky burns, and ships fall out of it. Always, always, swarmed by the ships of the monster called Krall. 

She used to go out to those new ships, eager to find something, find anything to get off this planet. Clambering over the rocky ridges, traveling through the forests, going as far as she needed to, to reach her destination.

That's before it gets too dangerous, when the Krall-drones realize how many survivors they can trap in the wreckage. So many, crawling over the fallen ships like insects, grabbing ship crew-mates, shooting the beings that get too rowdy. The dead they leave, corpses withered in the dust. 

Too many times they almost kill her, green stealing-life death coming far too close. 

She considers letting them hit, of going up to the Krall-drones and fighting until they inevitably shoot her. Pictures her body so still there on the ground, skin tight against her bones, feeling her organs fail her. 

Only the thought of her father stops, her father lying so still on the ground, brains bashed out and blood everywhere. 

 _What right do I have to die, when Father died so painfully for me to escape?_ she thinks, putting aside the thoughts of death for another day. She stops tracking the new ships across the skies, starts tracking old ships through the ground. 

It's safe enough. Safer than facing the Krall-drones. 

But she still dreams of it, her still body, her shattered bones. 

* * *

Her hands are raw, after a week working on her staff. 

The electrical currents running through it sting and zap. If you are not quick enough (and many times, she isn't), they will sting and zap your fingers. 

The illusionist fields are harder to build, so much more delicate and fine. She has to finish them, not only for their usefulness, but for her memories. 

 _Once,_ the words whisper in her ear, as she rewires the device yet again,  _there were few of us, against many. We fought and fought, but lost every cycle, every battle, until what was few became even less._

The voice is of her mother-aunt, dark eyes clear and full of love as she leans forward to tell the younglings the first tales. She still looks young, even after five births and living for sixty-two planetary cycles. Everyone listens, even the older cousin-kin that pretend to be too old for youngling tales. 

_So we stopped fighting and fled to the darkness, far from the enemy. And asked the stars, how do we survive, how do we win?_

Blue light dances through the house, reflecting onto her face. A brighter color, the brightest she's seen in the longest time. 

_The stars didn't answer but someone else did. Aludra, one of the last, thought long and hard. It spoke, saying, "If we are few, why do we not make ourselves many?"_

The wires are jumpy, waving back and forth in response to the tools she uses. Every once in while, she must put said tool down and use her slight fingers instead, so the wiring will not be ruined. It is tradition, this building of such a illusionist field. 

_All others called Aludra a fool, but Aludra worked hard for many cycles and rotations. Even as the enemy hunted, Aludra built something new._

Weaving and twisting the wires may be hard, but finding metal to cover them is harder. The scrap she finds is either not fine enough, or not hard enough. It takes the finely tuned currents of her staff and a couple of close calls to make enough covers.

_When the enemy came, all ran and fled but Aludra. Aludra came forward and by Aludra's side there were many. More than the enemy had ever seen before. When they struck one Aludra down, it would only become light, and not fall. At last, the enemy fled and Aludra stood mighty._

Once she finishes the illusionist field, she sits there a moment, studying it. She should have been making this with her father, listening to mother-aunt's stories with an open ear. Not alone, with the human music playing to fill the still air. Once enough time passes, she starts again, fingers working on more thin wires and metal. Not as fine as the first, but good enough for her intentions.

_That is why we are called the Aludra, after that first one. Remember, one can become many and such a trick is how the battle is won._

* * *

The blood coats the earth as a second skin. 

She tastes it in the air, even as she runs.

They are the only two left of the Aludra clan, her and her father. The last, after so many are taken away.

The screaming echoes through the halls, and disturbs her fragile sleep. One by one, they are gone. One by one, it is only left to them.

Her father finds a way, a clever way he shows. " **I have worked on this for many rotations,"** he speaks in their heart-tongue, the secret language of the Aludra that no enemy can understand, that keeps all things secret.  **"We were all going to use it, but the enemy took too many, and the others were afraid."**

 **"So we are leaving them?"** she asks, still not understanding. Still denying that the screams mean her mother-aunt, her kin, her cousin-kin, are all gone. Dead, far beyond any living being's reach.

He looks at her, silver eyes full of some unknown emotion. Carefully, he reaches out a hand and strokes her braid. **"It is all that we can do,"** he says softly.

The plan is simple. Break the lock while the drones are switching shifts when it is dark. Then run out of this prison, to freedom. With any luck, they would be gone before Krall would even learn of his missing prisoners. 

In retrospect, she should have guessed a plan so reliant on timing and luck would fail. It is only a few hallways before a Krall-drone spots them and sounds the alarm. Her father grabs her hand, pulling her through the tangled stairways and balconies, searching for any kind of hole. 

The Krall-drones give chase, and Jaylah thanks the stars that they are such awful shots. The green death splatters all around them, scorching the flooring and walls. 

They run and her father shouts,  **"Over** **there!"** ,pointing at the side wall, where there is a perfect gap, big enough for them to go through, out into the strange forest. He pushes her ahead of him and she stumbles slightly, as they accelerate their run towards freedom. So close. But a figure steps forward out of shadow, and with his appearance, hope fades. 

Manas is there. The green shots have herded the two of them towards Krall's general. 

 **"Run, Jaylah!"** Her father pushes her away, stepping towards Manas. He cannot win, she knows. He is no fighter, but a navigator through and through. Navigators do not fight. 

"Your fight is with me, Manas," he says. 

Manas grins, pale skin so much like her race's gleaming in the low light.  **"Will you not run as well?"**

She freezes in horror at the smooth words leaving the enemy's lips. That is her people's tongue, the language that they have never taught to any other, words that Manas should not know but does. Her father is still. Too still. 

Manas continues his words, seeming...pleased to see what effect his speech has brought.  **"Yes, I know your tongue, Aludra, and know your plans because of it. Your people could not escape us while we heard everything you planned. You are a failure and will die like the rest. Whimpering animals, weak."**

Her father's eyes narrow, silver meeting silver-black. "I will not fail." And he lunges. 

The fight is one-sided. Manas plays with her father, pulling his punches and almost gleefully avoiding every weak blow aimed at him. Too quickly, Manas tires of the small amusement and ends the fight with a single kick.

Father lays there on the ground, breathing shallowly. Another kick and blood comes from his mouth. A solid hit to the skull nearly crushes it. Blood and gore everywhere, brain matter leaking from his head. She can't help herself. **"Father!"**  she cries out.

Her father's eyes somehow focus in her direction.  **"You have to escape, Jaylah! Run!"** Manas sneers, kicking Father once more to silence him. There are words exchanged between the two, but too quiet for her to hear. Until they no longer speak, the fight finally over, Manas bends closer, outstretched hand glowing death-green.

She looks away and only runs. It is useless, Manas is more than fast enough to catch her.

She runs anyway, the last order of her father ringing in her ears. 

Manas does not chase, does not give orders to the Krall-drones to catch her. 

He only stands there, over a shrunken corpse, skin lighter than ever, dark eyes turned silver like her kin's.  **"Run all you want. You cannot escape."**

The words haunt her dreams for months to come. Because what if he's right, speaking her mother-tongue, that she cannot escape. Cannot get her house off the ground into the far-off sky. But she tries anyway, tries to fix her house.

Because she knows nothing else, but to run.

* * *

There are no allies on this world.

She explores every nook and cranny she can find, searching for something, anything. For someone to help her leave this planet. 

Every survivor she finds wants nothing to do with her. Some even attempt to attack her, to steal the parts she has gathered. She fights back, tricking them and trapping them until all know to leave Jaylah alone.

She repairs the ship, finding more and more everyday. But what if it isn't enough?

There is no one to talk to, to listen to. There is only the music she reroutes to the speakers. When she talks to herself, words echoing back from the empty halls, it is in common tongue. There is no one who understands the speech of Aludra to talk to, except herself. 

The common tongue is clumsy on her lips but she speaks it anyway. It is far better than to taste the smooth words of her native tongue. Far better than to dream the night of lost family and of Manas' promise. 

She fights herself, using the staff she's cobbled together and illusionist tech. Only herself, no other. She has not the skill, the talent, the images, to make someone else appear, made of light and energy.

Every planetary rotation is the same. She hides, she runs, she steals. 

Some days, the sky burns and ships fall. But most days, the skies is a smoky-clearness. 

Outside, she wanders the forest, absent-minded as she kicks aside rocks in her path. She picks her way back to a very fruitful crash site, a more recent one, but one that should be safe enough, Krall-droneships flying away from it. Maybe today she will repair her house.

Shouting ahead, in the common tongue. She quickens her pace.

Today, a ship disk fell from the sky. Today, a ship of the Federation fell from the sky. 

Today, she feels it in her blood, will change everything. 

 


End file.
